


Build A Fire In Your Eyes

by whereismygarden



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumpelstiltskin keeps sneaking up behind Belle in the Dark Castle. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Build A Fire In Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> iambicdearie on tumblr prompted "magic-enhanced smut."

                Belle liked half of Rumpelstiltskin’s garden: if garden it could be called. He never tended it and didn’t seem to care that she did. One half, which she did not set foot in, grew henbane and foxglove and pennyroyal . The stems of poisons and medicines twined against each other, and the bees and butterflies that flitted through the flowers and the lizards that rustled through the weeds growing in the beds were the only animals that dared step there. She much preferred the other half, where mints and onions and parsley stretched their stems and leaves over the stony dirt. In this half, she rooted through the weeds and tugged them out. She took herbs, rinsed and chopped them to add to their dinners, and didn’t fret about keeling over at the table.

                Rumpelstiltskin must come down some of the time, to retrieve whatever he needed for his potions and cordials, but she never saw him do so, and rather considered the place a sanctuary of sorts, a quiet place like her library.

                So when she was kneeling at the base of a rosemary bush, working her fingers around the root of a particularly tenacious weed and she heard someone exhale behind her, she was startled. Letting go of the dandelion stalk, she twisted her head round in fright, only to be met with the sight of laced brown boots and tight leather trousers.

                “You surprised me,” she said, willing her startled heart to settle. He lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side.

                “You seem to have forgotten the other half of my garden,” he said softly. Belle couldn’t help but notice his left foot rested between her ankles, a hair’s breadth from the cloth of her skirts.

                “It frightens me a little,” she said, raising her chin. He had never instructed her to tend either side. Her master wet his lips briefly and smiled a small, brief smile.

                “I like it,” he said, and then abruptly knelt behind her, sinking to his knees but otherwise remaining upright at her back. Gentle hands rested on her shoulders and Belle trembled, in something that wasn’t fear. “All the poisons mixed in with the cures.” He leaned in close, so he was speaking right into her ear, breath hot and so close it was damp. “Sometimes in the very same leaves.” She swallowed, suddenly hot-faced and sweaty-palmed.

                “Can nothing at all be simple? Good or bad?” she implored. She knew his answer, knew what reality and history held up in response to dreams, but asked anyway.

                “I haven’t seen it yet,” he said lightly, and plucked a leaf from one of the mints, then dragged it gently across her cheek. “Maybe you’ll surprise me.” Then she felt the heat of him retreat, heard his feet scuff in the dirt, and he was gone. She pressed a hand to her chest and felt her heart thundering under her palm, her face burning as if he’d touched her with his lips instead of a stray piece of greenery. Chiding herself for the thought, which had her wondering what it _would_ be like to feel his lips on her skin, she finished ripping out the dandelion with a savage determination before she went to make dinner.

                Rumpelstiltskin behaved as if he hadn’t drawn so close to her earlier, as if he hadn’t breached all good manners by touching her. Of course, she’d taken his hand enough times—in friendship, no more—and dared hug him, but this…was different. She had heard his breath, nearly panting in her ear, and—and it was all ridiculous, to think such things! Her master the Dark One, the fearsome sorcerer, had better things to do than seduce his maid in such a strange way. He could simply throw her into bed if he wished, now that she was here without hope, but she was sure he wouldn’t. Or he could kiss her outright and ask politely for—whatever it was he wanted. Which was nothing.

                As it turned out, she was wrong.

                They watched each other all the time, and sometimes she caught him, or he her, and he would look bashful or smug in turns. The Dark One spent more time spinning than she did cleaning, she sometimes thought, but it did lend a certain softness to his face when he had been sitting for hours and his mind had wandered far from anything but the draw of the thread.

                He did not always spin, and once she was in the library that he’d pretended not to give her when she heard the click of boots and turned to spot him sweep in, hands pressed together before his body.

                “Enjoying my books?” he asked, and crept up behind her as she turned back to a shelf. His hands settled on her waist this time, and she was sure she did not imagine the way his fingers tightened just slightly, a soft pressure that shortened her breath.

                “Yes,” she said, and it was certainly not her imagination that his thumbs rubbed at her lower back. Nor was she imagining that it felt good, because it did. “Enjoying my waist?” He froze, the suppleness of his hands leaving them, and he drew away woodenly. “No, wait,” she said, unsure why exactly these words were spilling from her mouth. “I don’t mind: I just don’t understand.”

                His hands returned, gingerly, tracing down the back of her dress along her spine. This time she let herself lean back a little, heart pounding from his closeness as well as the almost indecent thrill that came with _letting_ him touch her. He chuckled darkly behind her.

                “You don’t understand why I want to touch the beautiful woman in my castle?” he asked, smoothing his hands down her sides and gripping her waist more firmly. “Why seeing your hair tumbled down your back makes me want to bury my hands in it? Why the way your body curves draws my eyes?” Belle bit her lip as he rested his chin on her shoulder and flicked the edge of her ear with his tongue.

                “Why couldn’t you say it till I asked you, till I’d stopped you from leaving?” she said, and gave up trying to breath as usual: she would take over-deep breaths if she must, but she did not want to heave like a messenger or a child playing tag. Her mouth was too dry. Rumpelstiltskin sighed into her shoulder and leaned against her, so the weight and heat of his body rested partially on her back.

                “Beautiful kind women don’t like to see monsters touch them.” His voice sounded defeated suddenly, and Belle turned around in his arms and hugged him tightly, daring to kiss his neck under the pretense of the hug. He gasped and his hands tightened noticeably on her waist, thumbs pressing into the angles where her legs and hips joined.

                There was nothing special she could think to say, not when they were pressed so close she could scarcely think, not when the subtle taste of his skin lingered on her mouth, and not when his hands shifted from her hips to her sides to her buttocks and back again. He was breathing into her shoulder, nuzzling his face into the bared portion of her shoulder and neck, and she hissed in surprise when he kissed her there. Her hands clenched around the fabric of his shirt as his kiss turned wet and sucking on her throat, and his heavy breath morphed to a deep moan.

                “Rumpelstiltskin,” she wavered. She could feel her heartbeat in her temples, her wrists, and between her legs, and in his tight breeches, his own response to her pressed hot and hard just below her belly. They were just the right size for each other, she thought dizzily.

                “I’ll not take anything you won’t give,” he said, licking delicately up the side of her neck from shoulder to ear. “Tell me what you like of what I do.” Belle closed her eyes and tried to collect her thoughts, but it was so hard when his hand was stroking across her stomach and his other up and down the outside of her thigh. He nipped just below her jaw, letting out a rough growl that sent the most heat yet flooding her belly.

                “I like you touching and licking,” she faltered, blushing red over her bold words. It was true, though, and surely this, this that felt so good, could not be so bad. Her virtue, guarded so closely, seemed less important when _not_ having it felt like this. Rumpelstiltskin let out a shuddering breath and lifted one hand off her to flick at the air, snatching a soft chair from the other half of the room with magic and depositing it behind her.

                “Sit,” he said roughly, and she did so, missing the feeling of his hands. She was soon placated, though, when he dropped to his knees and brought his hands up and down her thighs, occasionally rubbing at the insides, just through her skirts. Belle felt her breathing hitch and sped at his touch, and squirmed  at the sensation building inside.

                “Rumpelstiltskin,” she said, ashamed of how weak, how breathy her voice sounded. “I feel—“ This was what desire felt like, it must be, this wet aching between the legs. But she couldn’t say it, not even to the man kneeling in front of her and waking it up. Then his hands dipped to her calves, slipped under her skirt, and she lost the ability to think outside of what she was feeling.

                Warm fingers slid over her thighs, pulled her knees apart so gently that the instinctive reaction to yank her legs shut passed after a moment. She must look like a whore, hands clutching the arms of the chair, head pressed to the back of the luxurious chair, and legs spread apart with her master’s hands delving between, but she did not care in the moment.

                His fingers were warm and gentle when they stroked the insides of her thighs, and the first tentative brush against the folds of her most private place was soft. She sucked in a breath as he rubbed the backs of his fingers through the hot, slippery liquid that collected there, then delved through her folds. He had the softest touch, and when she could dare to glance down at him, he seemed transported.

                “Oh!” she gasped, when he grazed something that sent a shock of bliss through her, and she shifted her hips, seeking it again. Rumpelstiltskin gave her a happy leer and moved his hand over the little patch of flesh he’d found, grin growing when she gasped and cried out with each twitch of his fingers.

                Everything was soft and hot and she felt as if she were being pushed up a slope, pleasure building inside her and spreading through her body, all the way into her arms and legs. She couldn’t have stopped calling out if she tried, as the heat inside curled through her, with each gentle movement of his fingers, and she moved her hips in response, pushing herself more firmly against his hand, bracing her feet on the floor and curling her hands around the arms of the chair, willing that feeling through her whole body. Just a little more, or she would burn up. She _needed_ more, needed his fingers pressing harder and rubbing faster, but she couldn’t ask, couldn’t talk, simply moaned and pushed against him, harder, _yes_ , more, more, there, in one tiny secret spot, yes...

                The feeling finally crested, and a bliss she’d never felt before shuddered through her entire body, in waves that made her hips jerk and legs tremble as she gasped out her shock and pleasure. She felt a prickling of sweat all over her body and took a few trembling breaths before she looked down at Rumpelstiltskin, who was still kneeling and smirking.

                “Thank you,” she managed, unsure if she could stand immediately. His smirk morphed into a wolf’s grin, and he tugged her skirts, past her knees.

                “Oh, no, not yet,” he said, and rubbed her calf gently, smearing the wetness from between her legs on her skin. “I don’t think you’re done.” Belle bit her lip.

                “What do you mean?” she asked. He gave her a hungry grin and pulled her skirts up further.

                “I mean, any man who’s got you here would let you walk away only coming once,” he said, and pressed his lips to her knee. “And I intend to make you lose count.” Belle hadn’t thought she could blush further, but she felt she did in that minute.

                “I don’t think I could,” she protested, and couldn’t stop her little whine of pleasure as he licked up her thigh, closer to her core. He grinned into her leg, then up at her.

                “I know you can,” he said, voice a growl again, and she bit back a gasp as he finally bunched her skirts up at her waist. She was red with shame, all of her bared to him, but he only lowered his face so it was only inches from her, and inhaled noisily. “You smell like honey.” Rumpelstiltskin scarcely sounded like himself, all trace of the giggly imp gone. Belle pressed her lips together, determined not to move her hips again when he was so close.

                The feeling as his tongue pushed through the slippery folds of her was enough to have her clench her hands over the chair again. Then he found the rough little bud that held all that ecstasy, still sensitive and hot from his hands minutes before, and applied his tongue there.

                “Gods, yes!” Belle cried, toes curling and head slamming back as she struggled to stay still. “ _Oh,_ please don’t stop,” she begged, and he didn’t, just pressed his lips on either side and slid his tongue over it, slowly, without pause, not as hard as before but just as good, and she was going to break again, sooner than before, and she could feel the wetness sliding out from her as she moaned and lost control of her hips again. He only groaned and flicked his tongue down to tease the entrance of her before drawing that sensitive place between his lips and squeezing.

                She shattered apart with a scream this time, light bursting behind her eyes, and would have come out of the chair were it not for his hands pushing her hips back.

                “Oh, gods…” she managed, and Rumpelstiltskin kissed the back of her hand with his slick mouth.

                “How many was that?” he asked, and she wanted to faint as she realized he had been completely serious.

                “Two,” she said breathlessly, and he kissed her knee once more.

                “You don’t object?” he asked softly. The idea would have made her giggle if she could do more than gasp.

                “No,” she assured, though she wondered how much her body could take.

                Quite a lot, if she was reading his expression correctly.

                He returned his mouth to her again, teasing this time, flicking at her with the tip of his tongue and talking all the while. Every time she yelped when he touched her earned a pleased hum from him, and a comment that made her blush.

                “There, Belle, let’s bring you closer, that’s good, make a little noise for me, hmm?” She couldn’t stop herself from crying out and squirming when he reached to tease at the slit of her entrance with his fingers. “You taste good, Belle, and you sound so _happy._ ” She let out a loud moan when he pushed his tongue against her more firmly. “Are you climbing that peak, Belle, hmm? Will you scream for me?” He withdrew his mouth from her and watched her whimper for a moment.

                “Please,” she gasped, wanting to reach for his hair and press his face back to her, but unsure she could keep her balance if she moved her hands. “Please.” He hummed again, licked her so that he was _swallowing_ her juices, and then there was a jolt inside as he drew his tongue so delicately over her, and she nearly sobbed with the release.

                Then it was building again, though Rumpelstiltskin had his head tilted back to look at her and his hands rested on the outsides of her thighs. There was the faintest purple glow at his finger, and she gasped.

                “Cheating,” she protested, hardly able to speak, because the unbearable aching, waiting was present again after only seconds of relief, and she was rubbing her thighs together, desperate for the final push.

                “How does that feel?” he said smugly, and she only whined through her nose. He was doing it on purpose, holding her at the edge, where she couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, could only twitch and moan and wish he would release her. “Come on, Belle,” he coaxed. She forced her eyes open and met his, which were hot and black and wide. “Tell me.”

                She panted, trying frantically to collect the sensations and form them into words, while the ache and pleasure built and built without easing.

                “Gods!” she shrieked, feeling her leg start to spasm again. Gods, it felt like his fingers and tongue rubbing her, his soft lips brushing, while he sat there and _watched._ “Oh, it’s heat and _you_ , and please, _please_ let it finish—“ The pleasure crested while she was still speaking, and she shuddered gently in the chair, feeling boneless, unable to cry out again.

                “How many?” he asked, and she blinked for a moment, then remembered.

                “Four,” she managed, and he smiled broadly.

                “Mmm, indeed.” His fingers stroked over her curls, brushed through the liquid and brought it to his lips. “Your juice tastes like honey and spice, Belle.” He sucked deliberately, and she squeezed her legs together, self-conscious despite his appreciation. “Your quim is soft and sweet and your petals are dripping nectar like a rose drips rain.” He waved his fingers, just a little, and her legs were pulled apart and bound in air, her hips on the very edge of the chair with more magic to cushion her back. Rumpelstiltskin kissed her hands again, before securing them invisibly to the arms of the chair.

                She was bound securely, her thighs pulled apart wider than before, and he trailed his fingers down her skin before he suckled once more on the rough pearl that responded so well to his touch.

                “I want you to scream, Belle,” he whispered into her folds, and another little wisp of magic crept inside and coiled up, led by his nudging tongue. “It’s not going to stop this time. I can make you come for hours if you like. You’re going to drip for me, and I’m going to drink you down while I make you climax. I like the taste of you when you moan, Belle.” He was smiling, she could feel it, but after a few minutes of steady attention from his mouth, she was sighing loudly and wishing she could move against his bonds, and whether he was smiling was not the first thing on her mind.

                It came gently this time, bubbling up and shaking her limbs as heat flooded her body, then it didn’t stop. She could feel the magic in it, keeping the pleasure that made her moan softly at its peak, until she cried out louder, then babbled nonsense, then finally screamed the way he wanted her to, body shaking as the feeling broke and rose again and again, and she only sagged against the chair and _screamed_ and begged him, to either stop or never stop, because she couldn’t survive this, this, this mad joy, guided by his soft tongue, and she couldn’t live without it.

                When she opened her eyes again, Rumpelstiltskin was smiling softly, the smirk at his lips almost content and his chin glistening wet.

                “How many?” She shook her head in incredulity, and felt the soft cuffs of air dissolve. She nearly fell over, but then she was caught up in his arms, skirts rearranged modestly, and he carried her downstairs, deposited her on the chair by the fire with a blanket and her current book, then backed away. She blinked at him: his hands twisted over each other and his eyes looked worried, for all that she had been the one half clothed and writhing minutes before, and he still had her wetness on his chin.

                She took his hands in hers and mimicked his kisses of earlier, trying to show something other than desire, and smiled at him. He squeezed her hand briefly, then backed away, a little of the jesting returning to his voice.

                “I still expect dinner later,” he reminded her, “though I am not particularly thirsty at the moment.” Belle, whose face was nowhere near returned to normal, clapped a hand to her mouth at his words and felt herself go red for what looked to be the latest of many times. 


End file.
